


Give This Heart a Break

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Crinkle Dot [7]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Michael supposes even the infamous Vagabond’s reputation accounts for so much. He’s certainly not invincible no matter how much he seems to think he is, and Michael’s come up against little old grannies  who are far more terrifying than he could ever hope to be.





	Give This Heart a Break

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Anon on Tumblr who asked for Myan in the [Crinkle Dot AU.](https://vagrantblvrd.tumblr.com/tagged/Crinkle-Dot)

Michael supposes even the infamous Vagabond’s reputation accounts for so much. He’s certainly not invincible no matter how much he seems to think he is, and Michael’s come up against little old grannies who are far more terrifying than he could ever hope to be. 

Makes sense, then, that he doesn’t always come up on top when it comes to his line of work, that he’s going to have a bad day once in a while.

Not the heart-stoppingly terrifying ones that have Michael tracking him down in the rain, just.

The kind where the universe is finally getting a little of its own back for all the shit Ryan’s ever pulled.

“You look like shit.”

Smells like it too, and the poor bastard looks like a puppy someone kicked out into the rain. All sad and pathetic and if Michael had a heart, the sight of him would be tugging at his heartstrings.

As it is - 

“Hold on, I need to lay down some newspaper before you come inside.”

“I’m bleeding?” Ryan offers up, like he’s pretty sure he is under all the disgusting slime and shit (Michael's certain that part’s literal) he’s covered in. 

And, look.

Michael is deeply concerned about that, he is, but he has a deposit to think about here. Carpet his landlord is all pissy about remaining pristine like anyone not pulling down at least a million a year would ever consider white carpet in their place. 

_Especially_ in Los Santos.

“Yeah,” Michael says, not budging because Ryan’s a menace. Take your eyes off him for one second and you’re gonna regret it. “But are you going to die from it, is my concern.”

Ryan frowns, like he’s honestly thinking about it. Like, hey, bullet in my gut, but is it really going to kill me or is that just the day-old burrito I scrounged off the kitchen counter like a goddamned animal? (That’s not a hypothetical, by the way.)

“No?” Ryan hazards, and seems to realize his mistake, because he blurts out a completely convincing, “I mean, yes!”

Michael stares at him.

“I feel faint,” Ryan says, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead like a character out of a period movie. “The blood loss - “

“Yeah, okay,” Michael says, and shuts the door in Ryan’s face to let him continue with his pitiful lies as he goes to get the newspapers.

He should probably grab some towels and a change of Ryan’s clothes because God knows he’s not patching the idiot up until he’s taken a shower.

========

Michael’s not sure if criminal types like the Fakes stay up to date on their shots and everything else, so whenever he gets one them bleeding all over his furniture he finally gets to stabs them with a few. 

“ _Ow_ ,” Ryan says, eyeing Michael warily. 

Michael snorts because that one didn't even hurt.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” he says, as he disposes of the needle and cleans up.

Ryan looks a little less pathetic after his shower and change of clothes. There were a few cuts and scrapes and a bullet graze, because of course there was, but he’s mostly in one piece. 

Which, always nice.

“Gavin called to ask if you were dead, which I assume means you did something stupid.”

With Ryan, that’s kind of a given. 

“Define ‘stupid’.”

Ryan’s smiling his so-called “charming” smile. The one he claims has gotten him out of a scrape or two, just went and flashed it at someone and let his southern gentlemen accent out to play and crisis averted.

And right now that’s just not going to work.

Kind of stupid for him to think it would, really.

 _Ryan_ -level stupid.

“I mean,” Michael says, and waves a hand at his television. “Odds are good whatever you assholes did today is going to end up on the news.”

Ryan looks like he wants to argue the point, which, also stupid and kind of exhausting.

“You want pizza or something else for dinner?” Michael asks, because that’s usually a guaranteed way to cut him off before he really gets going on his bullshit.

“The place with the bread-sticks?” Ryan asks, hopeful lilt to his voice.

Michael rolls his eyes, but he’s already dialing. (Would never tell Ryan he has the place on speed-dial because it’s one of Ryan’s favorites.)

========

“You’re an idiot,” Michael mutters, scowling at Ryan who’s using him as a pillow because he’s wounded. 

Ryan gives him a sheepish little smile, all, hey, what can you do? 

Meanwhile, the news anchor drones on and on and on about events that took place earlier in the day. Group of assholes robbing a bank and a very familiar figure front and center with his mini-gun covering his crew as they take off in a battered looking van.

The footage cuts between several angles, news cameras and idiots who risked their lives to record the standoff on their phones, because _Los Santos_.

“In my defense,” Ryan says, “it worked out.”

In the sense it allowed the others to get out safely, sure. 

The fact that Ryan suffered a run of bad luck that culminated in him slogging a couple of miles through the sewers before he felt it was safe to take to head up to street level is just an inconvenience.

“I hate you,” Michael says, because _this idiot_.

Ryan smiles, eyes crinkling just so because he thinks he’s adorable like this. Hair loose around his face and sweet little smile. All soft and rumpled, and miles away from the fucker snarling at the cops on the television.

“Rude,” Ryan says, all woeful and sad. Like he can’t believe Michael would be so mean.

“Yeah, well.” Michael shrugs, and goes with it when Ryan curls a hand around the back of his neck and tugs him down for a kiss, because the poor guy’s had a rough day.

Committing crimes and pulling stupid stunts and wading through raw sewage like a champ, and Michael’s not that heartless. 

“I still hate you,” Michael says when they break for air, because he _does_ , just. “Like, a fuckton.”

Ryan hums, all stupid, smug smile and dumb face. 

“Same.”

It would take too much effort to smother the bastard, so Michael settles for kissing him stupid – well, stupid _er_ instead.


End file.
